


Soulsong

by Sevynlira



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 19:40:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18611185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sevynlira/pseuds/Sevynlira
Summary: There is a song for everyone. A single song that resonates so well that it fits your very soul. Maybe one day you will hear that song. If you are lucky.





	1. U cant touch This

“That is our song.” The skinny man brags while clutching the bright eyed blonde’s hand and shooting her a loving smile. 

Dean presses his mouth into a thin line trying his VERY best to hide the explosion of laughter that threatens. He dips his head to study the parts ordering sheet before him and hopes that Garth. Garth? Yeah. Garth doesn’t notice that he is about to die laughing at the absurdity of “U Cant Touch This” being ANYONE’s soul song. It's a cruel joke. It's absolutely ludicrous and he is about to lose his shit just thinking of whatever circumstances had instigated their meeting. Did they meet at a 90’s themed Halloween party?

“Go ahead, you can laugh.” The man is actually laughing himself, not taking offense at all when Dean loses the battle with his facial muscles. “Love doesn’t always have to be serious and I think our song really does make everyone around us feel happy when they hear it. Just like a hot tub after a long day, it's a real relief to have my girl with me. It suits us just fine.” Garth radiates so much calm happiness about the entire thing that Dean believes him. He couldn’t have imagined anyone connecting that song with simple uncomplicated joy with a partner, but here it was. 

Dean thinks about Garth and his sweet wife Bess for the rest of the day. It's not like Dean doesn’t believe in soulsongs. In fact, as a kid he had been sold on the idea so much that he had obsessively plunged into a passionate love of music. He listened to hours upon hours of the classics. His taste ran to rock and the truly magnificent roots of blues and Americana. His music was as much a part of his soul as that classic car and his closet full of flannels. As he got older though, pragmatism had set in. It was a lot like Astrological signs or Tarot readings. All very speculative and some folks really obsessed with the implications of every detail in the song they felt resonating in their being. After meeting Garth though, he was encouraged. Not everyone had to be so damn serious and sometimes loving somebody can be as light and silly as “hammertime”.

It had started to hurt a little bit. To listen to music. He hated longing for some sign of warmth or even a little shimmer of sensation. Other than some goosebumps and general happiness, he kept losing the pleasure of music strictly for itself. The edge of desperation and fruitless delving dimmed his joy and had sort of guided him right into a well worn niche of familiar tunes. It’s sort of typical really, to be halfway through his 30’s and quite content with his playlist. He didn’t have to perk up and deeply listen to his tunes. He knew they weren’t “the one” so he could relax and just enjoy them for what they were. It was comfortable. Stable. Maybe a little boring. Not that he would ever admit such a thing. Outloud.

Monday mornings suck. Especially Monday mornings when you only get three hours of sleep. Just one more hour would have made a world of difference, but it wasn’t meant to be. Dean’s sleep had been interrupted by the weirdest dreams. Maybe Sammy was right. Bacon cheeseburgers are starting to warp his sleep. If this was getting old, it sucked. There had been this flashing blue light and the sound of a heartbeat and the feeling of having to run away. It really was a freaking weird ass dream and then his brain hadn’t let him fall back asleep. So here he was on Monday morning, lining up with every other poor working soul to grab some caffeine. At least most of the morning rush had already trickled away and the 9am drabble of folks weren’t enough to get his grump any more ruffled than it already was. Dean snags his coffee from the red-haired barista with only a half hearted smile. He finds a corner table to slump over and flips his phone into his palm to check for any updates from Sammy. Nothing but an Instagram picture showing his dorky puppy face shining as he snugs Jess right up against his enormous chest. Figures. They look amazing of course. Dean feels his heart bump harder in his chest. Jealousy? Nah. He is truly happy that his brother has found somebody. His chest just keeps up that hard thump though. Reaching to rub at the ache, he frowns a bit at his coffee. A racing heart with only a couple of sips of coffee? Nah. 

Then he notices it. The music. There is a heartbeat in it. A steady rolling thump. Holy fuck. His heart is still slow and heavy but it is matching that pace and there is some pulling throb that is tugging at his sternum. Like the song is urging him to move. Fuck. 

Dean stands up abruptly, completely forgetting his drink and bouncing the tiny table until his coffee flies right off the edge and explodes. “Goddamnit!” Dean exclaims and then immediately needs to search for the music again. He looks for a speaker, as if that is going to magically make it louder or somehow manifest some reason for his soulsong to be playing right this moment. The barista that was going to help him clean up the mess is now looking at him like he has sprouted extra limbs. Maybe because his face is wet now. Is he crying? Fuck. He is crying. In public. He takes a few deep breaths and tries to remind himself not to freak out any more. Ok. Is his soulmate here? Most of the time, the music means that person is near. He is trying to slow himself down, searching every face. The barista? “Its my soulsong.” He explains in a shaking voice. “I haven’t heard it before. Just now.” He looks at the delicate redhead and knows. It's not her. Although, now she is beaming at him with complete understanding and bustling around him to sop up the mess with a towel. That music keeps pulling at his chest and driving every single molecule of his body to alert attention and this ache. It hurts. He needs to find them. But after looking into each face in the room, it’s only an echoing blow of loss. Somebody has their phone out filming him. He is bawling in the middle of a coffee shop and that is probably worth some clicks to somebody. Goddamnit. Why couldn’t he just have his soul song when he was 15 at some stupid pep rally or school dance? Why couldn’t he have it at some club when he was 25 and drunk off his ass? But NO. Dean Winchester has to hear his soul song for the very first time when he is 35 years old at 9:30 in the goddamn morning. If there is a God, that bastard is probably laughing his beard off. It is hugely unfair to host a feelings party when the sun is this bright and there isn’t any whisky around. 

It doesn't stop. This song must be about a million years in length because it rolls on and on and the heartbeat of it won’t stop pulsing beneath his skin and he wants to run away and stay here at the same time. He can’t keep his knees solid and manages to flop into his seat again and hides his face against his forearms on the freshly cleaned tabletop. Like a kid playing thumbs-up-seven-up in school, he rests there and just endures the music until it finally winds to a merciful conclusion. The helpful barista is there with a stack of napkins and he mops his face and tries to think of one single way to recover any sort of dignity. Thankfully, she is the best barista in the world because she is shooing off the spectators and she fills in the awkward silence immediately. 

“I’m Charlie.” she says cheerfully. (As if they had been talking all along and Dean hasn’t just been losing his shit.)

“Dean” he croaks, and sniffs and tries to stop himself from shredding the napkins into tiny tiny pieces. “What is the name of that song? I need to know what it is.” 

Charlie flips open her phone and scrolls into a music app. “We use a streaming service here.” she explains. “Our playlist is shared by all of us and I think that one was Meg’s. She thinks we need to get out of our American music mindset and listen to more world music and expand our horizons. She puts some weird shit in here.” 

Dean winces. Was his song weird? 

Charlie catches the wince and her eyes widen as she vehemently throws her hands forward. “NOT that your song is weird. Really! Fuck. It’s a good song. It’s one of the best ones on the list I think. Meg picked a good one. It’s just not our usual coffee shop stuff. Its EDM.”

Dean’s forehead wrinkles and his eyes squint. “It's who - what now?”

“It’s EDM. Electronic Dance Music? No lyrics. Just computer generated and with that beat to it. You know?” 

Dean imagines a throng of teenagers with glow sticks. They wore neon. NEON for fucks sake. Was his soul mate some kid that spent their weekends with ecstasy and clubs? The more he thought about it, the more his stomach felt like it was sinking. His soulsong doesn’t even have any REAL instruments. Just some computer bleeping and blooping.

“Ah! Found it.” Charlie flips her order pad onto the table and writes as she speaks. “Its called, The Road So Far and its by the artist Angel.” Ripping the square away from the pad, she hands it to Dean. He takes it like it is laced with arsenic.

“Angel? Is that supposed to be a name?” 

“Probably not” Charlie answers. “Most EDM artists go by a pseudonym. You might find the name online though.”

Dean feels his exhaustion hit again and scrubs his face with his hand. It's too much. Today is too much. He just wants to go home and crawl under the covers.

“Are you gonna start going to dance clubs?” Charlie asks. Reasonably.  
Dean just makes a pained annoyed sound at the suggestion and grimaces. Charlie chuckles and nods her head. “Yeah. It’s not my scene either. How are you going to find him?”

“Him?!” Dean yelps in surprise. What do you mean, “him?”

“Oh, well I guess it could be a girl” Charlie hedges. “But I have gay magic powers and I have a gut feeling. It’s a Him.” 

Dean scoffs. “You just assume I am gay.” 

“I assume everyone is gay until they tell me otherwise”, Charlie informs him with a knowing smirk. 

“I am not gay!” Dean insists.

“If you say so.” Charlie winks

Mentally, he argues back that he is bisexual, but he is too chickenshit to say that outloud so he just rolls his eyes in exasperation and stands to gather his phone and jacket. “Welp it's been real, Charlie. But I have to get to back to my life and stuff.”

“Hey, you better come back and let me know what happens. I can’t stand it when I don't get the end of the story! And you are gonna owe me 20 bucks when it’s a guy.”

“I didn’t make that bet, Charlie!” Dean complains

“Ha! See! You are scared its gonna be true! I am gonna win!” Charlie yells back as she makes her way back to the register. 

Dean can’t help but smile just a little bit as he shakes his head at her antics and exits the coffee shop. He feels like it has been days and days since he walked into that room, but the sun is blazing and he is still exhausted.

Bobby only yells a little bit when he calls in sick and Dean spends the entire day in bed trying to get the heartbeat thump of that music out of his head. It takes hours to finally sleep, but finally he surrenders and sinks into oblivion and relief.


	2. Three legged puppy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtu.be/P88kzhvd4eU  
> This song is probably exactly almost Dean's soulsong. If you cant see him riding in the impala while listening to it. Well. You just arent listening hard enough

Sammy yells a lot more when the YouTube video goes viral about a month later. “WHEN were you going to tell me DEAN?” he thunders. 

“Uh..tell you what?” Dean cautiously asks.

“You heard your soul song for the first time a month ago and you didn’t tell me!” 

“Oh. That.” 

“Yes, Dean. That! What the fuck man? Gorgeous guy hears soul song for the first time It’s all over the internet. They had it on the fucking news this morning. YOU CRIED! It was right after a video about a three legged puppy that needs adopting. A three legged puppy, Dean.”

“Fuck.” Dean eloquently replies. “You aren’t ever going to let me live down that video are you?”

“Hell no. Not ever. Dean. You had feelings. Real live human feelings. I think I might be crying here in a minute.”

Dean squawks with indignation. “Shut up Samantha. What the fuck. Fucking internet. Nobody can just live in peace anymore. Goddamn assholes have to be sharing what should be private. Fucking hell.”

“So?” Sam prods.

“So what?” Dean grumps.

“So what are you going to do about it? Was your soulmate there? What song is it?” Dean has heard that tone in Sam's voice. He is on a personal mission. This was trouble. Sam doesn’t let things go. Not once they pique the interest of that giant brain. He holds on to whatever has interested him and picks it to death. He lives for meddling. 

“You haven't found them yet. I mean, you would hide your soul song outburst but you wouldn't hide the person you love from us. Would you?” Sam sounds more than just a little hurt by this entire situation and Dean feels a twinge of guilt over not telling Sam. To be fair, he was trying to push the entire situation out of his mind and telling Sam would have just stirred the pot. He felt something like embarrassment. Something like fear and vulnerability. All feelings that he just isn’t ok with. It wasn’t like he had always imagined it. It was way more like being pushed onto a stage wearing your birthday suit. Not like the romantic stories. More like asking for a first date. So painfully unsure and not ready. Never ready. Even though he had always dreamed of being guided by music. This was more like music was shoving him off the diving board. 

“No Sam, I haven't found them yet.” Dean's voice is surprisingly quiet and vulnerable sounding and Sam is silent for a long beat. It is suddenly very clear how delicate this entire thing is for his brother. Dean isn’t the type to talk about things he wants for himself. If Sam isn't careful, Dean will completely close up about this topic and turn stubborn and impossible on it. “I can help you find them.” Sam suggests in what he hopes is a casual enough tone. “Just tell me the name of the song and we can figure out where it plays a lot. I mean, we can go to places and just see. If it’s a top hit it will probably be pretty difficult. But you never know, man.”

“It's none of your business, Sam.” Dean's tone warns that he is stiffening and preparing to shut down the conversation.

“Why not? Dean, you have wanted this since we were little kids. Now we know for sure that you have a soul mate running around out there somewhere. That's awesome and you deserve a shot at finding them. And besides, I could just listen to the youtube tape and figure it out. It's really hard to hear but I bet I could isolate it. So you might as well tell me.” 

Dean groans at remembering the stupid viral video and sighs in resignation. Sam was right. He wasn't going to let it go and Dean might as well be tilting at windmills. “Fine. Just a second. I have it written down here somewhere.” a shuffling sound of Dean rifling through mail and change to find the square of paper drifts through the receiver while Sam tries to recover his shock.

“You seriously haven't listened to it again? Not even once. Not since that day? Dean. Seriously? You don't have the name of the song memorized? It's a song that describes something essential to your very soul. And you haven’t even looked it up? What the fuck?” 

“Well not all of us get all horny for navel gazing Sam. Fuck. I dunno. I was going to. I was figuring I would let what was supposed to happen just happen or whatever. Its fate. Right?” Dean's excuses don't even sound believable to himself and Sam has lived with Dean his entire life. 

“Whatever you say, Dean.” Sam resists the urge to push or tease. Dean is shit scared for some reason and Sam knows not to tread too close to the truth about that. Dean gives him the name of the song and Sam promises to follow up with whatever he finds. They hang up, but only after one last parting shot. “They called you gorgeous Dean. Like a three legged puppy” He hangs up the phone while still cackling over Dean's enraged shouts.

“I hung up too soon!” the text from his brother says. “This song is EDM! Holy shit. Dean. Your soulmate is way too cool for you.” There is a line of smug emojis and Dean rolls his eyes at his phone. Two minutes later there is a link. Its a Youtube video. He knows it's the song. He really isn't prepared for it. He should really get his headphones. And some comfy clothes. Probably some water. Maybe he should order out. Dean realises he is stalling only after a solid hour of nesting down to properly listen to his song. He is half annoyed at himself and half embarrassed. This is ridiculous. It's just a song. But somehow his hands are shaking a little and it's kinda like the first few times he watched porn. He wants it to be all set up right. 

Finally, he has eaten and is wearing his comfy soft sweats and is settled back onto his memory foam mattress with his headphones. “Here goes nothing.” he mutters and clicks the link. The youtube video isn't live. It's just a still image of an album cover and the studio version of the song. He pauses the video after two notes to look at the cover art. It's simple. Plain white with a stretched out wing. Iridescent black feathers. The road so far must have been released as a single because it is written on the cover along with the artist name.  
He hits play again.  
There is a soft shushing swishing sound that opens the song. It's completely drowning his attention. Like something behind a doorway is waiting. Something outside. It beckons. Then a soft rhythmic tapping begins. Footsteps. His footsteps walking to that door. Stepping out. And there is a piano. High repeating melodic trills. Its sunshine. Drenching soaking sunshine. Filtering through the leaves. The music is still so soft. Its building so slow. Keeping that same stepping pace but building more and more layers. A cymbal begins to ride the beat and suddenly he is 15 years old and riding his bike. It's the first time. He is too old for this to be the first time but they hadn't been “made out of money” so he hadn't ever had a bike as a little kid. And he is a little embarrassed but he is excited. The tires make this ticking sound on the road and this song is the wending road he is coasting down. Flying. He is flying and his heart is beating heavy and deep and the sunshine flickers against his long lashes and he flings his arms like wings to fly. That bike. The smell of the hot asphalt. The flickering freedom of floating down the road. He tips his head back and feels his throat close with emotion. He is free. The song grows spare again. It pulls back from all the heavy layers to just be a stomping pulse before starting all over again. Now he is in the Impala. The scent of his baby wraps around him and the road unspools in waves. That same insistent sunlight beams over chrome and drenches the music. The weaving tromp of bass kick measures his breath. Its home. It's the road. Freedom and hope and sunlight. It's pulling him somewhere. This road. It's going someplace where he is welcome. He is sure of it. The soft susurrations of wind over the top of the song presses gentle touches to his face and arms. Every sense is awake and alive.  
It ends.  
It's all at once too long for a song and too short. How is this even music? It's a story. It doesn't have a single lyric. But there is some way that it is describing him. Better than any words could. How? This music is strange. Its hypnotic and magic. He is suddenly dying of curiosity. Who wrote this? How was it even made? A computer did this? It sounds like a piano in it. And like a kick drum. And some snare. And this weird clapping sound. So yeah. Its computer music. Weird. He knows next to nothing about that stuff. Who is Angel? Does Angel know his soulmate? Is there some connection between them that made this Angel write down his soul? The questions are ridiculous because everyone knows that musicians really aren't responsible for the soul matches that they make. It's just a fluke. But when he listens to it again, there is an itch. A pull. It's a road. It's dragging him and beckoning him forward. It isn't a song for lying still. It’s a road trip and a walk and a bike ride and stepping forward. It’s demanding that he come forward. Move. There is joy and welcome but it is not standing still. He has to chase this. He knows that. Somehow. Damnit. Sam was right. He needs to know more.


	3. Prayer

This was a dumb idea. Dean stares at the plane tickets in his hand and groans miserably. Fucking planes. Apparently nobody in Lawrence aside from fucking Meg even knows his song exists. The enigmatic Angel is apparently one of those mysterious ones like the guy who wears the giant mouse head. Nobody knows who it is. There is only the tiniest shred of information about Angel. Not in English. But Sam was stubborn and kept wrangling this gordian knot like it personally offends him to not immediately find an answer. He found plenty of Dutch websites that go on about Angel. Before Dean even knows what hits him, he is loading his bags onto a plane and heading for Holland. Goddamn Europe. What the fuck? This is stupid. Going to an Angel concert. It's the next gamble they are taking. There isn't a single American venue on the website. Of course not. This Angel is doing a European tour right now and there isn't any sort of indication that the DJ will be returning to play music in the states any time soon.

They had tried dance clubs. So many weekends of friggin neon and house imusic. Turns out that the rolling quiet thumping techno really isn’t a huge hit in America. Go figure. Most clubs play house music and DnB and trance and even dubstep. Techno is very urban and underground mostly and Kansas is hardly the place to find that sort of thing. He feels too old and uncomfortable at the clubs. The fact that he even knows all of these terms and styles of electronic music is a little bit embarrassing and kind of exciting. It's been years since he had felt out any new music. He had downloaded all of Angel’s extensive discography and likes maybe half of it. Mostly it's awesome for zoning out while working at the shop or cooking. Its music for relaxing too. He isn’t about to admit that Angel has played him to sleep for almost two weeks now. And if he slips on the headphones and cranks his song all the way up to deal with the plane taking off, well, who is gonna know?

Welp. Dean is going to be in Europe for the rest of his goddamn life. There is no way that he is ever going to step foot on a plane again. His arms and legs feel like cooked noodles and his head is pounding. He feels like somebody shoved him inside a tin can and shook it for ten hours. Why in fuck did he allow himself to be talked into this nonsense?

He knows why. It is because that song. It is itching beneath his skin. Dean has always been just a little bit restless, he jittered and tapped and bounced until he could get out there and move. He isn't a sit still kinda guy. This song seems to know that and builds a restless sort of longing to travel and search. Dean isn’t one to believe in subliminal messaging from the government hidden in songs and such. That would be assuming the government is clever and capable. It’s giving too much credit. Soulsongs are just different. They say something about the people that they call to. Not everyone even has one. But his is a winding road. And it’s leading him somewhere.

Dean digs the tickets from the side pocket of his duffel. Two boiler room concert tickets to see Angel perform two nights. They hadn't been particularly expensive, but when you factor in the travel and the time off work, this was by far, the absolute limit of what he could afford and what he could risk for this wild leap of faith. He finds himself sitting on the edge of his hotel bed just staring at the tickets and begging them silently. _Please, I am afraid. I haven't believed in anything for a very long time. I lost her. The light of my life. My precious Mom. I saw her die and smelled her burning along with all my Father's dreams. So maybe I have been angry. For a while now. She told me about Angels. She told me about soulsongs. But then she died and I figured all that stuff was gone with her. Hearing that song almost felt like being with her again. I miss it. I'm so tired of being alone. So please. Be there. Meet me there. I am looking for you._ Jet lag catches Dean and he feels suddenly so exhausted that he lays back on the bed in all of his clothes. His hands still clutch the tickets and his restless dreams can't even make him let them go.

What he does not see is his soulmate. Castiel stands trembling and shocked only a few feet away and folded into an adjacent dimension. He doesn't see him because the angel is completely shattered and so shocked that he is frozen and hiding from the sheer force of the prayer. To him! This human was praying. To him! He had never been prayed to before. It felt. Well. Less holy than he had expected. It was so raw. A prayer carried the package of emotion bundled in the words and that sorrowful longing really was fucking with his vessel. He can barely focus on the words because of the wild romp of human emotions playing havoc with his amygdala. His eyes are leaking and his hands are shaking. So fucking distracting. This man is looking for him? How? Why? Castiel edges closer and spots the tickets. Fuck. Well fuck. He is looking for him. He came to the right place. The American English prayer and daytime napping says the man has come a hell of a long way.

Too bad he will leave disappointed


	4. Holy

When Dean wakes, it is dark. Full blown confusion sets in before his phone chirps again. It must have been what had disturbed him in the first place. Once his eyeballs adjust from the face melting glare of the phone, he notices the time. He is late. Dean races through the hotel room like a hurricane, grabbing his wallet and tickets and checking for his passport. Goddamnit. He can’t miss the doors. He will just deal with meeting his soulmate with one side of his hair looking sorta rumpled and smelling like an airport. Whatever. It was a stupid idea anyway, he is probably going to spend another night drenched in crowd induced sweat and the frustrated feeling of disappointment. Again.

It’s actually kinda perfect. The line outside the doors is almost all crammed into the club. This crowd though, it’s completely different. Middle aged folks, young professionals and not a bit of neon anywhere. In fact, flannels are pretty much standard wear for most of the men in line. Maybe more on the hipster-ish fashion end of the spectrum but still. It’s actually more comfortable to stand in this crowd than any he has seen in weeks. Maybe he has done the right thing. There are several incredibly beautiful dutch women that he certainly wouldn’t kick out of bed and he doesn’t feel like he should card them. He actually allows an excited frisson of nervousness creep into his hands and shoulders and fidgets with the tickets until they are mangled by the time he presents them at the door.

Once inside, Dean can feel a flock of nervous butterflies take flight in his stomach. The milling press of people makes it feel more like the familiar clubs back home. Its sweaty and full, but these people aren’t thrashing and dancing, more like gently swaying hips or heads to the relentless thrum of the warmup DJ spinning techno. This has to be it. He can’t go so far and trust so much for it to come to nothing. Something a little like faith is stirring beneath his skin and something like a prayer is just beneath his breath. _Please be here. I have come so far. I feel like finally today is right. These people are the right people. This place is the right place._

Castiel twitches with a full body shudder as the sudden prayer licks up his wings. The flapping shiver whacks Gabriel right in the face with one half decorated wing. “Hey!” he protests and bats the feathers from his mouth. “What the fuck?”

“Sorry! Shit. Sorry!” Castiel grimaces and calms his limbs for Gabriel to continue draping the LED lights over and around the extended span of his wings.

“You know, people are gonna start asking interesting questions if they figure out these things aren’t fake. You gotta hold still, Cassie. He reprimands the angel while looping the heavier battery pack down by the smooth rill of muscles that bulk around his spine to support the great wings. Tearing off another strip of athletic tape, he secures the pack and nods with satisfaction.

“Are you ok?” he asks quietly. “It isn’t like you to move when you don’t intend to. Is your vessel well?” The question reveals just how bad it has gotten lately. Angels need a few key things to stay somewhat functional on planet earth. A host of Angels to connect with, a strong link to heaven to top up the reserves, and a solid firm footing on faith. Castiel and Gabriel both are lacking in all three. Gabriel has managed for hundreds of years. He has walked with humans forever, and seems just as powerful as ever. But Castiel can feel the strain. He has asked the archangel over and over how it's possible. Gabriel keeps trying to show him. It's not working. Mimicry and trying to meditate into the right headspace and produce some simulacrum of faith to sustain him. It’s very obvious that copying just isn’t going to work. Maybe it isn’t even possible for a Seraph. They were created to be close to the throne of God. This distance from heaven is draining him more every day. There is only one halfway decent way to bolster his quickly failing tie to this earth. Music.

Castiel ties the cleverly constructed Kimono over the heavy drape of his wings and begins to center himself onto that bright heaven shard that holds his music. There. The rolling heavy stomp. Like a chanting meditation. Its techno in this time and place. It has been so many kinds of music, in different worlds and times. A heartbeat thrum. He was created to sing “holy, holy” around the throne. It was a song. A repeating rolling hum. A reminder for all beings to tune themselves to. A battery to sustain all of heaven for eternity. To listen is to drop into meditation and find the rhythm and heart of life. The tick of bodies existing in time. The metronome of eons passing and energy decaying. For every rising tide there is the falling back. This swishing swing from life to death and back again, the endless cycling beat. Sunlight and shadow and breath that comes and leaves. He had sang this song for ages, millennia. Until even the time for him to stop came. It wasn’t the end of the song. There isn’t really one. But it was the falling breath of confusion and fright. The discordant jangling threat of his song being turned from the face of an absent god into the weapon of angels. So he left. The ragged seams of heaven had made a soldier of all of them. There wasn’t the luxury of millennia to just keep the flow of heaven in beat. Instead, every angel had to find the rhythm themselves and so many songs were stuck on the tip of an angel blade.

The morning star and brightest of the choir had broken the song and god’s heart. So Lucifer went in anger to the world to fix all of the humans and hurt them with the hearing. So now they hear it. The song of their souls. It is meager. They cannot hear it clearly or well, but they do hear the one closest to the stirring of their being. A soulsong they call it. It is a curse and a gift, like the morningstar himself. Perhaps they will meet someone that is meant for them and maybe that person is a gift or maybe they are a curse. The song doesn’t care at all. It is just as heartless as tides and empty as heaven’s throne.

But it doesn’t change who Castiel is. He is music. He is “holy, holy” around the throne. And tonight he will usher the souls here into simulacrum of heaven. For the next few hours, rapture and the presence of holy will be in this room. He cannot return to heaven. But he can set the ticking twitch of every atom to the frequency of endless joy. Every heart that stands in the vibrating thump of angelic will can wash in grace and feel the lightness of being. A balm and relief. He can lose himself in his purpose again.

Its time. The lights are flooding over him and dipping the entire crowd in black. He tips his head back toward the ceiling, whispers **_Holy_** , and sweeps his hand over the deck.


	5. Plunge the deeps

Dean hasn't been to a whole lot of concerts. He is so new to the electronic dance scene that he feels the pulse of awe that drifts over the crowd like a slap. Is that normal? Nobody in the crowd seems to be freaking out. Music had made him feel all kinda ways but this. This was something else. The crowd shifts and pulses toward the DJ booth. It must be time. There is a man wearing a long sweeping kimono that has joined the warmup DJ. Dean had been impressed by the casual coolness of the crowd. No costuming or neon. But this DJ is stunning. The kimono hangs open to bare most of his chest and shoulders. It would look ridiculous on anyone else, but that tanned stretch of skin looks inviting. The length of his throat looks longer because it's framed in the deep vee of silk. He has a western haircut which contrasts the asian costume. It is cropped close but not enough to tame the tousled messy thick of it. Then a black shape shifts behind him. How did he not see that first? Wings. They are massive. They look heavy as fuck. Angel. It's a little bit on the nose isn't it? But he can't imagine this DJ looking any other way. The wings suit him just as prettily as that costume. He is obviously one of those guys that look great in absolutely everything. No wonder he has fans. Look at him. His head is keeping time with the music as the first DJ greets him in a half bro-hug. They stand with their faces pressed against each other while the warmup DJ says something in his ear over the loud music. Dean wonders how he smells. If the other man is breathing against his skin. What would it be like to press his face against that bare throat? His stomach twists a little with nerves again. He should be watching the crowd. His soulmate is probably here tonight. And he is fanboying on the DJ. Must be jetlag. He can't seem to focus. They say sleep deprivation can be the same as taking shots of alcohol. The crowd is electric with anticipation as the other DJ steps back and around those great wings.

Angel tips back his head and the room seems to freeze in time. Dean can hear his own breath for a second. The anticipation of this moment stretches so tight that Dean clenches his fist. Then the music crashes down over the crowd. The crowd exhales and a shining bright explosion of joy rocks the DJ's head back and he is laughing. White teeth shining and one arm raised. Those enormous wings stretch slowly open and curve inward to embrace the crowd. Shining lines of blue light spill between the feathers. Dean's dick is as astounded as the rest of him and he hardens instantly. Fuck. He is beautiful. So goddamn beautiful. This Angel is completely caught up in the music. His body is vibrating with joy and the crowd is pushing all of it right back at the stage. It feels like waves. Waves of total happiness to be here. Angel is inviting them in. He is introducing himself. Showing himself. It's shockingly intimate. Dean hasn't ever seen anyone this exposed outside of the bedroom. This music is enough to explain Angel. Its enough to listen to it. To know him. It hurts to see him this exposed. Like he has just ripped open his chest and let everyone see the light inside. Dean can't look anymore. He swallows and turns his head and tries to slow his heartbeat. He silently begs the DJ to relieve him. _Its too much. I don't know you. I can't look at you like this. It hurts. Please. Too fast!_

Castiel flinches mid laugh and feels his face burn as the prayer reminds him that the man is here. The praying one. And he is apparently sensitive as shit. The introduction and first tune of the night is to let the crowd know him and he has to come on pretty strong to reach the less sensitive in the crowd. This man is out there. Seeing him. Seeing him very very well. So well that the prayer was soaked in humiliated arousal. So now Angel is also humilated and aroused. He fumbles for the first time. Ever. In the middle of his first song. And backs off. Way way off. His music turns shy. Flat. Its almost human as he lets himself have a moment to recover. He turns from the decks for a second to snatch a water bottle and sucks down half of it in long gulps. This is. Well. It's exciting. He doesn't ever get real feedback on his sets. I mean, he does. But it's human emotion and it washes over him while belonging to another. This prayer stuff. It shares it. Injects the feeling all into his wings and lights up his vessel. His mind flies over his tracklist. Ok. He is going to switch some stuff around. He has an audience of one. He hopes the man will pray some more. Maybe his music can ask all the right questions. Angel smiles to himself and turns back to the decks to run the transition into something way more laid back. He will send an apology.

Dean watches the DJ suddenly dip his head. The music settles into a rolling thump and Angel turns to drink some water. The switch is so fast that Dean can picture the man suddenly covering his chest and hiding. That embarrassing intimacy has evaporated so quickly that Dean wonders if he had imagined it. Sure. Music is supposed to inspire emotions. He is just meeting this artist and sometimes a first meeting feels odd. Especially with somebody so beautiful. He is pretty sure that every new fan feels a little bit awed when they first see Angel on the decks.

Dean glances around the room and every face is a little flushed and excited too. Its ok. This is why they are all here after all. To enjoy the emotions and feeling of music. Whatever he is feeling is all in his head and nobody here cares if he gets carried away on the music. So he settles and feels better. More comfortable. The beat rolls into the next song. It's so casual and holding none of the intensity of the last song. The music rocks and claps in an almost schoolyard innocence. Dean narrows his eyes. _Haha, yeah right. After that last song, you are asking me to believe you are this sweet and innocent? I don't believe it for a second._ Angel does look so happy though. His shoulders are rocking to the beat and his hands keep bouncing out toward the crowd. He looks so young and carefree. Those wings pulse with joyful light and the crowd relaxes into rollicking ease.

Castiel feels the amused smirk in this last prayer. The praying man doesn't buy all this innocence but he is enjoying the joke. They both know that the intensity is closer to his real nature. But the praying man is happy to play along and enjoy the youthful bouncing lightness. His apology is accepted and the praying man is laughing a little bit at how Castiel has become suddenly sweet. The crowd is tuning closer and closer to the thrumming hum of his gentle guidance. By the end of this song he can begin to travel. There are places he wants to show the praying man.

Together they dive into the pulsing current of the deeps. The watery thump of the kick echoes across the cold dark expanse and the twittering chirp of dolphins changes to the mournful song of whales calling to the ever shrinking pods. The ocean seems to expand bigger and bigger as more and more species fall away to extinction and the great creatures sing in further diminishing numbers until there is only one song left. _Underwater? We are underwater. It echoes. I've never met a dolphin. Wow. Shit. Why? Angel, humans suck. It's so empty. They are all gone. It's so sad. Just one left. So alone. I'm so tired of being alone. I can't do it anymore. Don't leave me like this. I can't go back home feeling like this._

The DJ had forgotten how lonely that ocean song was. Damn. The first prayer from the praying man had been about feeling this. And here he was, bringing it up again. Shit. Ok. Time to move back into this room. They are all here together feeling the same thing and sharing it all.

The mood shifts to the vibrating hum of a great stadium. A huge gathering of people. All of the humanity pulsing bright in this room is crushing together and smelling the skin and sweat of each other. They are one great heaving throng. The air grows heavier and hotter with the press of bodies. The endless thumping bump is every heart as one. For the first time since Angel has taken the music, Dean notices the other people in the room. Every face is bright with the passion of music. Everyone moving and lost in the oneness. He meets eyes and there is compassion and connection in them all. Wait. Angel isn't in this song. It's separating the crowd and the DJ. This song is distancing him from the booth and pushing him into the mass of people beside him. For the first time since the start of the set, he doesn't like the song. The DJ stands aloof and apart. The humanity below is connected and linked and celebrating together. There is so much flesh and sweat and stink to it. But Angel is not part of any of it. Dean doesn't like it. Not even a little. _Fuck you, dickhead. You aren't better than us. I don't want to be part of these people. I came for the music. Stop looking over us like that. You might be creating this entire thing but you can't push me into a separate category from you. We are together here. You and me. I am not part of this crowd. I am connecting with you tonight so stop acting above this._

It's so much to think about. The praying man had rebuked him soundly for his humanity song. Everyone usually loved that song. Being a part of humanity all striving in flesh and blood to unite. It was a song of humanity triumphant and bonded through music. For the first time, he has to consider how condescending it is to be commenting about this struggle from his own perspective. He isn't human, so he observes from the outside. And for the first time he considers the arrogance of it. The way it distances him from the crowd below. He plays at participating with the human race. He wears this vessel but he stands so unnatural and untouched above them all right now. Until tonight he had toyed and played with people. He had treated them a little bit like food. Something to sustain and keep him tied to this planet. Cattle. Flesh. And now this praying man had roundly chastised him for his pride. He was right. Gabriel had tried to show him. His link would always be tenuous because he wasn't existing as flesh. He was existing as a being that was wearing flesh. It's a very different thing. He isn't sure how though. How can he climb down from his goddamn high horse? Castiel isn't really focusing and almost blindly chooses his next song. His thoughts are jumbled and his hold on the crowd is relaxing. He needs to finish this and go somewhere to think.

The opening swishing notes of **_the road so far_ **begins to play.


	6. On sight of Soul

Dean had traveled all this way. He packed his shit and locked up his apartment. He had planned his clothes for the weather and got a translation app on his phone just in case. He knew intellectually that this moment was expected. He mentally gamed out exactly how he should look around the room. He had planned how he would greet his mate. Apparently you can think about something for weeks and still be totally shocked and surprised when it actually happens. Apparently there isn't any way to prepare. The song is a million times more potent live than listening to a recording. The sound had already been reverberating in his bones and the walls. Now it rattles and shakes deeper, into some space he can't touch. He had cried with a longing ache in the coffee shop. He had itched with the drawing pull of the song the entire journey here. But now there is no relief from the throbbing pulse of it and there is nowhere he needs to go. So the song pins him in place and builds into impossible screaming need.

To those who are in thrall to the song, and those who can see souls, the vibration of the march of notes unfolds his soul from the center of his chest. The bright center of his being swells and blooms wider until he is surrounded by a halo of light. Like a bulb that has been flicked on. If his soulmate is here, they cannot miss it. The soft glowing aura grows strong until Dean himself can even see it flickering out from his skin. He has never seen a soul before because no song has ever triggered the response. Only one song ever could. He has seen pale impressions before in art and movies of course. It looks way cooler in person. Fuck. He has to stop marvelling at his own goddamn soul and look around. Look for anyone else glowing. He tries to calm his racing heart and find them. But everyone in the crowd is shining white. Reflecting. Not glowing. The stage is shining so bright there is no way he could see anyway. Annoyed, Dean turns his eyes to the stage and whimpers helplessly. There is a shining enormous being on the stage. It's so huge that it is taking up more than this building. At the same time, it is small too. Human sized. It makes no sense. His mind tries to make both things true at once and it hurts a little. It helps to focus on the wings. The great shining black sweep of them. They hold galaxies within but he knows it is easier to contemplate that and try to not look at the face of the DJ. He fails spectacularly. The perfect line of his jaw and throat draws him inevitably in. He can't. Not. Look. Angel shines. His flawless skin pulses with blue light and his eyes burn blue lightning behind his lids. His soulmate. Impossibly. Is right here with him. In the same room. All night he has struggled with his emotional response to the beautiful man. He held back. There isn't any reason to hold back any more. _I am yours, Angel. I need you. Look at me here. Shining for you_.

Castiel almost falls off the stage. The first wave of possessive intention and blatant sexual need drives into his vessel and he steps back from the crowd. As if getting distance from the praying man is going to help. He backs up until the heel of his shoe slips off the back of the stage and he almost falls ass over feathers from the back of the raised platform. A golden ball of light flares in the crowd, just to his left. A soulsong response. He sees them ten times a night. Twenty times. But not this song. It can't be this song. THIS song. It can't be. It's completely impossible. But that voice he has heard all night long, the first human to ever pray directly to him, is enrapt with the torturous pleasure of a soulsong and is lit up like a goddamn beacon in the crowd. And it's getting closer.

Castiel can move faster than human eyes can see. He can dance between raindrops if he wanted to. But for some reason he cant move from the spot where he gapes at the crowd and one glowing soul pushes toward the stage. There is a slight scuffle between security and then the praying man is on the floor, seizing. Immediately, the angel panics. Fuck. Fuck.

Suddenly his feet are unglued from the stage and he pushes forward to kneel beside the man. Immediately the tremors stop and the man reaches for him. _Don't leave me here_ his eyes beg. The angel touches each witness to the seizure and edits their memory. An ambulance isn't going to fix this. Somebody had tried to physically keep an angel's mate from reaching him during the first moments of bonding. Its intense for an angel. Apparently deadly for a human. He helps the shaky man up onto the stage and finds him a metal folding chair that he scoots right up next to the decks. The praying man collapses into the seat with visible relief and leans into Castiel's hip as he straightens to transition to the next song. There is twenty minutes left to his set and this wild pleasure that the praying man dumped over his wings is now pulsing out to the crowd. The entire sweaty mass of humans is now horny as fuck. Goddamnit. A little horny is great. A lot horny and it's gonna descend into a full blown bacchanal. He has to be cool. Calming. He has to back all of them down off this ledge. This mood is a direct aggression to the souls that are asexual out there. His audience didn't consent to an orgy. He centers himself, distances himself from his vessel for a moment and hopes to fuck that the praying man doesn't speak for a while. The relief is obvious as the song changes. The praying man's soul contracts back down into the cage of his chest and he slumps tired and dazed into the chair. Ok. Everything is so much calmer. Ok. Cool and casual.

Of course that lasts about a minute. Because that wild impossible infuriating human begins to touch his goddamn wings! Sure, Castiel can weave the music of the spheres and speak to the wild heart of every living thing. But it is asking too much to radiate cool composure and to calm a room of humans down. Not while this man gently slides his fingertips down one long flight feather. It all starts with just curious touching those wider stiff feathers. But the tactile lure of softness seems to draw the calloused hands deeper into the downy warmth. There is one rough warm brush of his thumb over the inner layer of down and the skin catches sensuously until one of the soft fuzzy feathers tugs free and the tension and release is so good that the angel gasps and feels a messy spurt of precome soak warmly into his clothes. His vessel has never felt so wildly human, so directly affected. His face is flushed pink and every inch of his skin feels aware of the man that is shell shocked and not even aware he is absently and distractedly toying with an angels wings. It's actually adorable and innocent.

And that just makes it hotter.

This man has no idea they are even real or that the DJ can feel what he is doing. He is petting the wings because they are soft and warm and because he is tired and emotionally drained. He is handling them so gently though. Not bending any feathers or tugging hard. Well. Castiel might not mind if he tugged hard. Fuck. He has to stop staring at the man petting his wings. And he can't just keep calling him "the praying man". He also needs an excuse to sweep his wings out of those hot hands because it’s going to make him orgasm in his pants and that is just ridiculous.

Dean startles a little in surprise as Angel bends down to ask him his name. Oh fuck. That voice is ridiculous. He had wondered what it would be like to speak to the DJ like this. His face is pressed against that stubbled jaw. He smells fucking amazing. Lavender fields and hay and ozone. He does manage to remember his name and shout it over the music. Barely. But then he sees those blue eyes. Up close. Shining at him.

Angel shouts back “I am Castiel.” Castiel. His mate is named Castiel. _Castiel! So beautiful and mine!_

The absolute joy in that prayer is enough to take Castiel's breath away. It's perfect. An emotion he can share with the room that isn't about getting the pray- _Dean_ \- naked and on any flat surface. Castiel queues the next song and releases the celebratory blast of undiluted joy. His power swells and the angel's renewed grace flings the song further than the little club.

All of humanity within miles celebrates this joyous party. Happy unexplained grins and warm hugs and forgotten feelings of connection spread throughout the city all along with a half heard song. Somewhere in the distance. Maybe somebody's car radio? Maybe the house down the road? The punchback from his increased power is fucking intoxicating. He hasn't been this powerful since stepping from the threshold of heaven.

The room is spinning and the entire city is lit with joy and Dean is back to pushing his fingers through his feathers. Only one more song. Just has to make it through one more song. His last song is a farewell and he nudges just enough exhaustion to let the crowd settle into themselves and leave in a hurry. They all want to go home. They all want to rest and be at peace. They all want to get the fuck out of the club to leave us alone, ok, thank you very much. It's a blatant abuse of his powers but right this minute, he doesn’t care. He needs answers now. The room empties like there is a fire somewhere and the house lights go up and the takedown and cleanup crew filters in. Castiel doesn’t even dare to look at Dean in the full brightness of the room. He knows this isn’t going to be a conversation for the room, so he has to pack his cables and computer and mixer fast. He brushes his fingertips over the nape of Dean’s neck once. Just an assurance that he knows Dean is near and they will leave soon. The man settles as if he understands exactly what the touch had meant. Considering the weirdness of the night, maybe he does.

Castiel has had audiences with beings of unfathomable power. He IS a being of unfathomable power. He is still dreading this conversation. It's all well and good to make a secret little wish list in some angsty million year old teenager fit of despair and drunkenness. It's another to be face to face with the literal man of his dreams and have to explain exactly how all of this happened. Why couldn’t he just be Gabriel for the night? His social skills are most definitely NOT up for this


	7. Divine Sense

Castiel and his dazed companion only make it to the parking lot before chaos strikes. One wild eyed vessel shining with celestial intent slams into the concrete followed by the sonic complaint from nature and the screaming whistle of flying debris. Immediately Castiel arches his great wings to shelter the mortal that is screaming and trying to somehow climb and pull the immobile angel away at the same time. Gabriel is arming himself and casting about for the adversary. "Casti- uh. Where is the fight? And. Is that a human wrapped around you?" 

Castiel hadn't given his vessel permission to reroute all the blood to his face but apparently his vessel was not taking orders right now. His face flames and his chest squirms with discomfort. The feeling is so shocking that he makes some desperate sound and Gabriel stops in his tracks. 

"Are you...are you blushing Castiel? Spank my ass and call me Shirley, you are blushing! And I felt your distress. All the way in Beijing. You. Heavens little wind up music box. Feelings huh? What in the world has gotten into you? Does it have something to do with your pet spider monkey there?"

Castiel is baring his teeth and sweeping his arm up and out with his blade before he can even think. Fury rides up his spine in a hot spike and rage is lifting his wings into a battle arch. "You will not speak of him again. Don't even look at him. Turn your face away before I make you regret it." His tone is low and completely serious and laced with deadly intent. 

"Whoa. Hey. Castiel, I won't. ok. Here. Look. I have put away my weapon. See." Gabriel lifts his palms and turns his eyes carefully away from the man that is now half tucked behind the aggressive posture of his friend. "Castiel, I can see that something has happened. I just want to help. You seem to be feeling, uh, feelings right now. I know it’s really hard to think straight. I know it is. It's going to be ok. Whatever happened is good. Just breathe. “ Gabriel demonstrates slow breaths and slowly lowers his hands, hoping that Castiel will mirror him. “Your vessel likes air. Slow. Easy." 

Castiel lowers his blade and feels the anger draining in degrees. His vessel is strangely damp and radiating heat. Sweat. How very.   
Leaky.   
The distraction gives his heart enough time to slow until Dean makes a break for it. The man makes a small desperate noise and scrambles into a full sprint across the lot. The physical slam of pain when Dean hits the psychic tether snaps his head back and he collapses with a shout. Castiel is immediately at his side, his own vessel ringing like a struck bell and his heart is once again threatening to leap out of his throat. It hurts. All of it hurts and the worst of it is those wide terrified green eyes. Those eyes beg for some relief and Castiel touches Dean’s temple and sends the poor man to the comfort of sleep. The tension in Dean’s body melts and Castiel scoops him up in one easy gliding catch. Dean curls into Castiel’s chest as if he is seeking comfort and warmth from the angel. This close, Castiel cannot miss the absolute perfection of the human’s face. Dean has full pretty lips and a scattering of freckles across his nose. His lashes and hair glint with flashes of gold. There must be some hand of the divine in such a beauty. If Castiel couldn’t feel the earthy pace of blood and bone and the meaty thump of his heart, he might mistake him for an angel. 

His chest aches to look at Dean. It's all a bit much. Castiel is used to dealing with the slow creep of eons trekking across the vast wastelands of the cosmos. He is used to the inching drag of entropy that stretches galaxies like taffy and feeds them to the starving mouths of black holes. It’s all rather different here. There is the furious shining of souls that only flicker for a moment and then they are gone. This one will be gone. In only a moment. So he stops and aches and wonders if it is some punishment or reward. Or both. Humans are the only ones who have confused the whims of God into some sorting algorithm of good and bad. It has never been so binary. “Much madness is divinest Sense to a discerning Eye” Divine sense has escaped Castiel from the moment he left the hard light of heaven. Down in the watery frantic press of living things, the messy weft of madness haunted the unravelling warp of his grace. That grace had faded and buckled and thinned until all the purpose of him spilled out in sloshing doubts. An angel without purpose is some mad little husk that forgets it’s own name and forgets to be sane and forgets to hold on to things like time and space and all the little pieces of matter that matter. This infinitely fragile perfect shining soul had bound itself up in the threads. A mate. A purpose. A reason to be here. But so fragile. Castiel could crush his bones with one flick of his wrist. His life is so short. This reason to remember himself would only be for a moment. What madness is this? What reason? What Divine sense? He searches Dean’s sleeping face for some answers and finds none.

Gabriel waits. He watches the tender curve of Castiel’s wings around the sleeping human. Only popped out for a few hours and stuffy stiff Castiel is cuddling some human in the parking lot. His chaotic loving heart thrills with the sheer awesome weirdness of it. What the everliving fuck had happened? He wouldn’t miss this for the world. So he waits until Castiel seems to shake the hypnotic thrall of the sleeping man. The angel lifts his fragile burden and turns. Castiel almost drops the man in surprise when he spots Gabriel. He had forgotten all about his friend. His wings flap out and his big blue eyes bug out. It’s so goddamn funny that Gabriel laughs until his face burns. He had never seen the angel so much as flinch. Ever. The stoic calm of angelic assurance had always kept him completely placid. The impossible happens again as Castiel flushes red again. Blushing! For the second time in an hour. "Oh Castiel," Gabriel murmurs fondly. "What in the world is going on? Tell me why you are shining so bright. You projected all of this to Mars I bet!" 

With a snap of his fingers, they find themselves in a rather over decorated suite with a handy red velvet fainting couch for Dean. Castiel handles the man like he is spun glass and moves to sit between Gabriel and the sleeping man. The archangel has to hide a grin at his friend acting so out of character. Gabriel motions for Castiel to turn and begins the slow relaxed motions of disentangling the strings of LED lights from the arching flow of feathers. "Now, I can't wait any more. Tell me. What the fuck?"


	8. Get out your feelings

"I might have done something, uhm, foolish." Castiel says in a careful quiet voice. Gabe stays silent in a rare display of patience as he threads his fingers beneath the sweep of plumage to draw another strand of lights free.

"Remember when I found that liquor store? I drank all of it. Gabriel. You know how hard it has been. It's gotten so much worse. I can't keep siphoning your grace. I can't stop the constant bleed of it. It hurts Gabriel. I am-I was. I was losing myself. Forgetting myself. I tried so hard to hang on. I listened to every single possible scrap of advice from you. I tried to live the chaos. Tried to be assured and without fear and holding joy in the turn of fate. I am not you Gabriel. I was losing myself. So I thought. I thought I would write myself down. In a song. Write down the song of me. Just to remind myself. To keep myself grounded. The humans wouldn't know what it was. It was rough. I only used human means. I didn't want to hurt them. I kept it simple. I tried playing it alone and it barely worked. I could feel the anchor right there. Just couldn't hold on to it. So I performed it live. At a gig. It didn't hurt anyone. They loved it! My producer wanted to release it as a single. It gave me a sticking point for weeks at a time. Some solid point in time. In memory. Of myself. A tangible memory that didn't slide away. 

"Castiel. Are you telling me, there is an album out there. Downloaded onto thousands or millions of devices that has an angel's calling card? Your sacred name. Are you telling me that some demon could be rocking out to your inner light? You just handing out your essance as a fucking mixtape? Any hunter or witch or one of our own bloody kind could use that knowledge to core you like an apple and fill the center with their own will! Castiel, it’s the most ridicul-"

Castiel interrupts Gabriel’s rant. “His soul responded to it.” 

The shock of what Castiel has just said completely dumbfounds Gabriel. He simply blinks at his friend. “What? Are you sure? That's impossible.” 

“I am very sure. He was resonant to the song. His countenance was like nothing I have ever seen before. It was- I can’t. I can’t describe it Gabriel!” Castiel wipes his palms down his face and takes in a few breaths to recover from the remembrance of that bright soul. 

Gabriel attempts to lighten the mood by sliding an arm around Castiel’s shoulder and pulling him close in a conspiratorial embrace. “Well, Cassie when an angel and another angel love each other very very much, there is some glowing and some admiring and some singing and--”

Castiel isn’t amused and jabs his elbow into Gabriel’s stomach. “He is human, you ass. Now I am feeling everything. This has done something to my vessel." He can feel the annoyance twisting his face into a pouting frown. Fuck. He was pouting and knew he was and couldn't stop himself.

Gabriel chuckles at the hilarious expression on Castiel's face. "Well I think that is just a side effect. I have been trying to tell you have to tether your grace here, among earthly things. It changes your connection to this vessel that is evolved to live here. Humans experience most of life through the body. You seem to have finally found something to anchor to. Since it's not heavenly, well, you might get some cravings." Gabriel motions with his ever present cherry lolly. 

"Just try not to project your mood all the way across the damn solar system, will ya? I thought you were getting murdered or something. I know your mood is gonna make your vessel react and that is gonna make your mood feel stronger. Which will then freak you out and then your vessel will freak out and then. Well. You get the picture. It's like a big amplifier you just wired yourself into. Rather clever vessels these are. They walk around with their bodies just humming all the time. You'll get used to it. Try porn. It will blow your wings off." He smirks lasciviously and nudges the still stunned Castiel.

The two angels sit in silence for a long moment before Dean stirs in his sleep. Immediately Castiel twists toward the human and with a touch, he nudges him deeper into sleep that was being fought valiantly. Stubborn man. So human. His ves- body was fighting the unnatural sleep. His soul was now folded tight into its shell and still pulsing and pushing out toward his grace. His mate was determined to wake up. 

Gabriel watches the tender expression flit across Castiel's features. "He can't be human, Castiel. We are angels. He cannot even see your face without his head exploding. You know we were inoculated. The tuning makes it impossible. There are laws. They were completely destroyed. The nephilim were too dangerous. We can't resonate with them any more. Not for thousands of years now. He cannot be your mate." Gabriel is trying to be gentle, but his words seem to punch into Castiel like fists. His face is etched with worry. Sorrow and confusion radiate from his vessel and his blue eyes shine with sudden tears. 

"We have to figure this out Gabriel. He is bonding. The link is profound. His reaction is the same as an angel so far. He cannot leave me yet. We are stuck together. He uh. He prayed to me." Castiel can feel his body reacting again with embarrassment. This time he manages to stop his face from flaring bright pink, but it's a close thing. 

Gabriel watches the struggle with amusement. "Oh ho! He did hmm? I have had prayers for thousands of years. The humans direct prayers to me often because they have heard of me. What was on his mind, Castiel?" The archangel smiles as if he already knows.

"No one told me that prayers came with that extraordinary data. The feeling in my vessel. It was overwhelming." I almost fell off the deck. 

Gabriel chuckles and swirls the candy behind his teeth. "We like to think we are superior, Castiel. We are stronger and live longer lives and have access to other dimensions and technology. If we admitted that these beautiful bright souls can do things we envy, we might start respecting them. Ha! We might start loving them. And there is the matter of exploitation. I know you were in heaven doing your duty in those days, but angels have been monsters that used souls as candy. As a drug to abuse. As currency. We had to stop it. Or at least limit it. So. The host set boundaries. Created tuning so we couldn't mate with them. It got better. But now that Heaven is at war and God isn't handing down the orders, I don't know. Maybe somebody is starting all of that up again. Maybe they have found a way to overcome the tuning?" Gabriel sighs and scrubs his palms down his thighs before standing. "You know, I was enjoying this vacation, Castiel. Now it looks like I am going back into the fray." His words sound so tired but his expression is still warm with affection. Castiel can see it for the first time. His eyes had been blind to the duality and humanity that Gabriel carried in his actions. Had he been this way all along? The angel was carrying hope and fear all within his vessel simultaneously while also radiating intention and celestial purpose. It was a little bit amazing.

"Castiel, stop looking at me like that." Gabriel deadpans.

"Like what?"

"Your head is tilted and your eyebrows are all scrunched up. It's the most confused look I have ever seen on an angel. It's making me nervous."

"Gabriel, I can help. We have to find out why a human is bonding with me."

"Cassie, you can't help. You said so yourself. You are stuck together. He can't be separated from you yet. You are grounded." Gabe's eyes gleam with impish joy as he pats Castiel's shoulder. "Why don't you just do your mating nest and flutter those lashes at your human, huh? I will look into it." He flings a ridiculously exaggerated wink at Castiel.

"But I don't know how t-" Castiel shouts desperately while clutching for Gabriel's sleeve. But the archangel had already popped away with a rustle of wings.

"To court a human." He finishes to the quiet room. Well fuck.


End file.
